Date: Wed, 26 Nov 1997 10:36:47 -0800
From: Joy/TheMorrigan/LadyElspeth/menagerie
((ok. This be War on his white horse...I've um...taken a few liberties in my description of War, to fit the image I wish to portray. Thank you Daniel, for letting me play around with this one.))
The diverse hosts of the land of Lyric stood on the field, their leaders having called them there to witness the end of an age of strife. A treaty waited to be signed and all were eager to see it done, none more than the elves.
The elven army stood proud, each man and woman of them lost in their own thoughts of what could be accomplished now...artisans could again take up the tools of their crafts, songs could be written and sung, children could be hoped for and reared. A feeling of hope and joy was foremost in the hearts of the elven army.
A white stallion delicately stepped from the line of trees behind the elven host. The rider on his back appeared, to any eye that noticed, to be a tall and powerfully built warrior. His handsome, chiseled features spoke of great wisdom and sure familiarity with command. He wore shining armor and a dazzling blood red cloak. He exuded an air of dangerous competence as he directed his horse forward to the nearest individual at the back of the elves gathered.
The man leaned down to whisper in the ear of the elf soldier whose expression of hope and joy suddenly twisted to dismay, and then rage. The elf looked up at the warrior in disbelief and question. The man on the horse nodded gravely, allowing a hint of sadness and regret touch his face, his eyes flicking meaningfully to the neighboring armies. The young elf then turned to his companion and began to whisper, gesturing toward the other armies, and the leaders of each who were preparing to make their way forward to the treaty-signing.
The horseman turned his mount away and cantered back to the edge of the trees, then shifted to look over his shoulder. A satisfied sneer crossed his face as he watched the rumor of War ripple through the elven host...and then they surged forward as one, gripped by the rage of battle.
War chuckled to himself as he rode off. Much to be done, so very much to be done.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
--A nondescript tavern, in a small village, standing near the border of two Baronies--
A beautiful white stallion stands tethered outside the tavern, seemingly glowing in the dark of the night. From within the tavern comes a raucous shout of outrage from a multitude of male voices, then the noise dies down to an irritated buzz.
Within the tavern, surrounded by farmers, shopkeepers, blacksmith, woodcutter, stands a tall young man, dressed in the dusty clothes of a wanderer. His boyish and honest face is drawn into a concerned frown as he speaks to these simple folk. A blood red cloak dangles from his arm as he gestures emphatically toward the border of the land, then he bows his head sorrowfully. An interrogative grunt from one of the men of the village is answered by another sorrowful nod from the young man. The men in the tavern shout in outrage again, then swarm for the door, intent on an errand of violence and retribution across the border.
The young man finds himself alone in the tavern, and the honest face is marred by a sneering grin of delight, the flickering shadows from the hearth fire twisting it to a grimace of pure evil intent. He strides out of the tavern, untethers the stallion and mounts, to gallop off across the border. He must pay a call to the lord of the manor there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The baron gestures to his guest to take a seat, then picks up the decanter from the table to pour two drinks.
The grizzled and scarred war veteran pauses first to remove his blood red cloak before sitting, then nods with thanks as the baron hands him his drink. He sips appreciatively, then begins his story of a small town across the border, the inhabitants bent on raids, pillage, and murder in the baron's lands. He weaves his tale deftly, and the baron listens carefully, nodding here and there, for surely this seasoned and greying veteran knows of what he speaks.
The baron stands and offers a handshake to the veteran, then turns to call servants, instructing one to bring round his guest's white stallion, and instructing the other to call his guard commander, for he must muster the garrison to march.
The veteran nods grimly to the baron as he dons his blood red cloak and strides out the door, a grinning sneer creeping over his face as he mounts his horse and gallops off to his next errand.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The games were always a joyful time, as the two clans gathered together, to share feats of skill, stories, music, dancing, food, and spirits.
The young woman tethered her white stallion to a tree at the outskirts of the gathering. She adjusted her blood red cloak back, to better accentuate her generously endowed, but slender, form. She moved off through the crowd, catching the eye of many a young man. Her full lips hovered delicately between a playful pout and a sly smirk, her eyes held a merry twinkle. Her blond hair cascaded down her back in a mass of curls and framed her precious face with spiraling wisps.
It wasn't long before she found herself surrounded by a circle of admirers wearing the plaids of both clans. She smiled and giggled, in turns shy and brazen, as she spoke with them all. She controlled the conversation deftly, bending them to her will without their knowledge.
It wasn't long before a few insults were tossed back and forth between the young men, at first jokingly laughed off...but as time went on...the insults grew more personal and the mood changed to one of tension throughout the gathering. Heated words were exchanged among men and women alike, and soon the crowd was in an uproar...the clans parting, moving to opposites sides of the fire. The leaders faced off, one throwing his dirk to land quivering at the feet of the other, and that one spat on it. They both nodded to one another, eyes filled with hatred and anger and turned on their heels. They would meet on the field of battle in the morning, giving one another the night to prepare.
As the clans packed up to leave, a slight figure with blond hair slipped off to the trees to untether a white stallion. She mounted and drew her blood red cloak around her as her fetching countenance curved into a satisfied sneering smile. She twitched the reins and turned the horse off to the road and the next errand.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The white stallion cantered through the city, the rider swathed completely in a blood red cloak, cowl drawn up. Bony fingers gripping the reins were all that were revealed of him. War no longer bothered with the glamours he'd been using to influence his targets. Now he merely rode...sending out random bursts of discontent here...hostility there, a bit of jealousy, a flare of hatred. His toothy grin was invisible within the shadow of his hood as he watched two little boys playing dissolve into a mass of flying fists and kicking feet as he passed.
The sound of smashing crockery was heard from a nearby window, and a shrill voice hurled insults, only to be drowned out by the thundering of a deep voice in answer. More crashing, then the thud of a body hurled against furniture and a scream in protest. The voices continued raging, the volume diminishing as the rider continued his progress.
Further down the street a farmer haggled with a merchant over the price of the produce in his cart. The argument grew heated, and the two men began shouting in one another's faces, their lips drawn back in sneers, the veins on neck and forehead bulging. Quick as a flash the merchant's fist flew up and boxed the farmer on his ear. The farmer retaliated in kind, and soon the two were wrestling on the ground beside the farmer's wagon. The red-robed horseman cantered by, barely glancing down with a chuckle.
A young maiden stood with her brothers by a fountain, chatting with the other young people gathered there. As the red-cloaked figure passed, one of the other young men foolishly reached out to caress the girl's chest. Her outraged slap was met with an iron grip on her hand as he attempted to force her to the ground. Her three brothers tore at the assailant and threw him back away from the girl before leaping on him, fists pummeling. The young woman stared urged her brothers on more violent acts as another girl, jealousy plain on her face, ran off to tell the mayor that his son was being set upon by some country bumpkins with no provocation at all. The white stallion progressed forward.
As strife overtook the city he continued his unstoppable mission, sowing the seeds of discontent among great and small.
Date: Wed, 26 Nov 1997 16:20:56 -0700
From: Dan (Rannis/Mystaran/Falyar/too many to name)
Behind him, Mystaran felt with satisfaction, the renewed hopes of the survivors of this village. Most of his day had been spent with them, healing each in turn, driving from their bodies the ravages of the plague, and bestowing them in the process with a portion of his immunities. They had pleaded much with him to stay, to protect them from further harm, but he could not. More was to be done; the Balance must somehow be restored. He traveled for the better part of the day, his padded three toed feet falling in silence on the well used dirt road, carrying him to a destination that he did not know. Like earlier, his form was transparent, creating ripples through the air as he walked. He remained in this state, not to hide from others, but rather to not alarm them. He remembered the reactions of the villagers upon first sighting him, and with an almost human-like sigh, he wished that people were more open.
Not knowing why at first, he stopped in his tracks, instinctively dropping into a low crouch, his hands carefully set to either side to aid in his balance. He tilted his head to listen, his purple eyes swirling brightly in curiosity, appearing for a moment beyond his invisibility.
Thoughts and emotions filled his mind at once, as well as the sounds of a struggle off the side of the path and beyond a line of bushes. Evil and selfish thoughts, intent on destruction. Quickly, he hurried from the path, stooping beside the bush as he watched from his place of vantage.
A group of men laughed loudly as they took turns laying blows to the bundle huddled into a ball in front of them. It was obviously alive, for it squirmed, trying futilely to ward off the blows. One man held up a hastily tied noose, and crouched while the others pinned down the figure, and the rope was slipped over it. They heaved the kicking form between them up onto their shoulders, and draped the end of the rope over the tree. The figure bound before them let out a high pitched scream of fear at the torment, before being silenced by a meaty fist thrust into the gut.
Mystaran's eyes became oblong, visible for just a moment as he squinted to make out the form. The figure seemed a halfling, a male of the species, and a short one for his race, at that. His clothes were torn in many places, and soaked through with blood, and upon the punch, his flailing limbs went limp. The men gave him a shove, and the noose tightened, hanging him like a side of beef.
The blue skinned creature rose, eyes flickering in anger at this atrocity, and he stepped through the bushes, his invisible form parting them with ease. The men turned towards the sound, eyes widening as his form faded into view, purple eyes burning embers, as he pointed to the first one, and then to the halfling, indicating with a sharp gesture, to cut him down.
Apparently the leader of the men just laughed, then held out a hand covered in the blistered sores that Mystaran had observed elsewhere. "Do your worst, daemon," The man spat, the voice drawn out. "There ain't nothin' ya cain't do tha' hasn't already been done."
With that, the other two men nodded in consent, taking up positions beside the first, while the halfling behind them gasped, and clutched at the ropes around his neck.
Mystaran took a step forward, non-threatening, his hands both lowered to his sides. But the men took it as violent intent, and at once, the three of them drew rusted blades from tattered sheathes, and began to advance on the creature, fanning out to surround him.
He remained where he was, unintimidated, his hands remaining by his side, sending out soothing psychic emanation in an attempt to quell these people. But it was to no avail. The third of the party rushed the attack, aiming a crude slashing attack at Mystaran's throat. He easily ducked, the with the grace of an animal, leapt forwards, past the left side of the leader, tucking into a ball as he landed, and rolling to his feet. As he rose, he found himself very near the struggling halfling, and without another thought, he spun around, his left arm held out. It seemed to flow for a short time like liquid, that pale blue limb, and at once, it hardened into a honed sword blade which rended it's way easily through the rope, collapsing the halfling to the ground. His arm already began to reshape to it's original form as he faced the men once again.
They seemed to hesitate despite their thoughts that they had nothing to lose, but sprang forward at the 1st man's order. Two blades instantly slid towards him, one in a slashing arc, and the other in a simple stab. Obviously, they sought to offer him no leeway. He twisted to the side, gripping the thrusting arm as it passed, and smacking an elbow down on the arm and twisting with a sickening crunch of splintering bone. The weapon dropped to the ground, and the man reeled away screaming. The other quickly recovered, eyes narrowing as he drew back for another attack. Mystaran spun around on his heel and thrust out a spinning back kick with his foot. The limb shimmered and took on the shape of a double bladed axe, tearing through the man's throat. The axe solidified again into a limb moments before the limb reasserted itself upon the ground. The leader looked from his companion clutching his wounded arm on the ground, to the other grasping feebly at his neck in an attempt to slake the flow of his lifeblood to the ground.
"What are you?" The man asked, voice almost in awe at how fast the battle had gone, and ill in the favor of his own people.
In his mind, Mystaran replied, **Mystaran. Protector and scout; seeker of balance.**
The weapon dropped to the ground, and the man slumped down to his knees, lowering his head and awaiting his demise. "Kill me then.. Oh mighty protector.. He's the one that brought here the bloody plague.." He nodded towards the halfling, now breathing deep gusts of air upon the ground.
**I doubt that to be true,** Was the response as Mystaran's eyes brightened for a moment in emphasis. **And I am not going to kill you.**
Turning, Mystaran crouched near the halfling, beginning his song of healing into the mind of this one. He heard suddenly the rasp of metal drawn against stone, and the heavy repeat of boots upon the ground. He turned sharply, arm shooting out and lengthening into a spear like shape, piercing the man's gut with a tearing of flesh. The man stopped abruptly, the sword again falling from his grasp as blood bubbled around the wound. His eyes glazed, but not before he looked upon the creature which had ended his life. Two words left his lips, reminiscent of the day before, but in different context, "Thank you.."
He slumped against the weapon, and Mystaran retracted it, hand reshaping, covered with the blood of the man. The body collapsed to the ground and laid still, and Mystaran again turned towards the fallen halfling, lowering his head, his eyes dimming in reverence for those who he just killed. His song began again in the mind of the halfling, still alive, filling him with warmth and with healing.
After a time, the halfling stirred in the first signs of conscious thought, his eyes slowly opening to his savior. And then they widened, catching sight of his pale blue skin, his hairless scalp, and his glowing purple eyes which seemed nothing but energy. He scrambled backwards across the ground, back pedaling until he hit the base of a tree, and he cowered against it.
"Who are you!?" He shouted in a voice, very much filled with fear.
**I am Mystaran,** He said simply, leaving off the title for now. **What do you know of the plagues that have come? Those men..** A nod over his shoulder towards the two fallen, **..said that you brought it.**
The halfling shook his head, trying to dislodge the voice from his mind, and he responded at once, "Those brutes would have blamed their own mothers for the plagues if I hadn't been unlucky enough to venture into town!"
"I just happened to be passing through, as well.." He sniffed indignantly, and rose to his feet, dusting himself off. "See if I visit THIS place again," He commented, gesturing with his nose, to a point down the road.
Mystaran likewise rose, towering over the small man, who stood at three and a half feet, at best. His clothes were dusty, and torn, his hair a dark brown and worn a short length, just brushing his ears. He looked not too old, and yet he wasn't a youth either. From the looks of it, he was fairly traveled. His eyes were a deep green, and spoke of their defiant nature as he stared up along the length of the creature who was nearly twice his size.
"What are you?" The man asked him, obviously curious now, more than afraid.
**I am Mystaran,** Came the reply, neither impatient or upset with the question; merely stating his name.
The man squinted, then nodded, content to accept that as an answer. He wiped a hand on his tunic and held it up to him, "Telick the Bard," He said as Mystaran accepted the small hand in his own and shook it; another gesture Lilith had taught him. "Where are you headed, Myst ol' pal?"
His hand withdrew slowly, and he set blue fingers to the side of his jaw, and glanced to the side. He nodded there, and answered, **That way.*
"Need company? A bard? A guide? Someone to carry your stuff? Someone to kick around? Someone to frown down upon?" The man chuckled to himself, truly not wanting to be left alone in this place, remembering his experience in the recent past.
**I do not need aid,** Was the reply, as he began to turn away, form shimmering once again. He paused as the man stated, "Just let me travel with you then. Please."
**Why?**
"I need help.. it's tough being the little guy. Let me come with you. Please?" Mystaran solidified his figure once again, and hesitated, weighing the alternatives for a moment. Finally, his head nodded twice. **You may come.**
"Great!" The halfling responded, happy at this accomplishment, and thought for a second. "Wait." He hurried towards the fallen body of the leader, and quickly searched the corpse, coming up again in triumph with a small book in one hand, and a dagger in the other. "Shall we continue?" He said with a grin as he tucked the items into his belt.
Mystaran said nothing, merely turning again towards the path. Indeed, more work was to be done. He could sense ill thoughts.. somewhere.
Date: Wed, 26 Nov 1997 20:59:38 -0800
From: Daniel/LordWolf & Co
The Necromancer stands within the center of the swirling vortex of powers. The outer edge of the vortex is amber in color and swirls to his whim. The Center of his source of power sparks a clean and holy blues as the stolen souls from the Well of Heaven drift about him awaiting his instructions. He turns slightly and regards the bound and captive figure of Gabriel the Angel of Death.
"You will not win, you know," Gabriel states to him. The Angel shifts a little trying to easy the bands of life and death that hold him captive with his wings pinned firmly to his back. "The Hosts of Light will stop you." Gabriel turns his thoughts to the form of the Necromancer and reaches out to snare his souls yet to his senses there is nothing there.
A soft chuckles greets his attempts. "You will not find a soul there for the taking, my Angelic one for I have none. I am the one forsworn and ordained to bring the down fall of all that was or will be. I am the trumpeter that will herald the beginning of a new age...a new beginning." The Necromancer approaches and eyes the Angel closes, searching his feature as if committing them to memory before continuing. "And there is nothing you can do about it."
Gabriel give one more futile struggle against his bonds and then resigns himself to waiting till a chance to escape presented itself. "We shall be taking a short trip, my Angelic friend," The Necromancer suddenly informs him. "Do try to behave yourself for I would hate to lose you....just yet."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They all came large and small alike. They gathered upon the three hundred and thirty-third plane. A great sea of limbs and tentacles and various other body parts. Some flew and others slithered while still others arrived in great flashes of light. There was Lloth the Spider Queen and Monarch of the Drow Elves surrounded by creatures that were half spider and half elf. The Demon Lord Graal with his retainers, standing dignified at the center hub of this great gathering. Orcus, Prince of the Undead, his huge fifteen foot grey frame covered with goat hair lounged upon a large daises. His huge goat shaped head with ram horns looks about impatiently as his clawed hand idly plays with the Wand of Orcus in his lap. The inner vortex, an area a hundred yards wide was cleared of all save those of power and status, yet one place was empty and it was for this one that they waited.
In the vacant spot a black mists begins to build, seeping from the very material of the plane itself. Those closest to the black vapors quickly draw back fearing what it may be. All eyes turn as a throne of human skulls appears the creature sitting within it is known by all as the Demogorgon. First to speak is Orcus, "Why have to called us here Gorgon? I was in the midst of torturing mortal souls when the summons came"
The Demogorgon looks to Orcus with a sneer of contempt of his demonic features. "Perhaps you should pay more attention to what transpires on the material plane then, Orcus....for if you did, you would know why I called The Gathering."
Orcus snorts at the Demogorgon words. "What concern is it of mine that the Horsemen ride there and kill at want. I have nothing to fear from them!" He last words are accented with a snarl.
The Demogorgon regards him for a moment, "Think you so?" He snarls, "and what souls will you torture when all the mortals are dead and gone, oh obese one? Who will be your play things then, I ask you?"
In response Orcus growls and half lunges out of his seat, his claws digging in. Then the words of the Demogorgon call to mind an image of a existence without his mortal play things. Countless eon without toys to play with and souls to ruin. This perhaps as nothing else causes a cold shiver to travel the length of his misshapen spine "You...can not be suggesting that we aid them? Join forces with them?"
"Aye, that is exactly what I am suggestion Prince of the undead." Murmurs of unrest and disagreement as well as disbelief ripple through the gathered host of demons, daemons and assorted other creatures. Arguments soon broke out among various demons as each argued what was best.
"ENOUGH OF THIS!" Lloth yells, her voice magically enhanced to a deafening level. For a moment there is semi-silence upon the plane. "Is there no other way, Demogorgon? I would sooner die than to aid the elves to live one breath longer!"
"What or your Drow?" His reply easily carrying to all. "They are mortal as well and will suffer the same fate if they are not aided." The Demogorgon, eyes burning with an inner unholy light as they bored into Lloth's. "Will you face the rest of eternity with no followers, Oh Spider Queen?"
Before she can answer a blinding light appears in the air above the gathered hosts. The lessor demons cower before the hurtful rays of the heavenly Angel that slows descends into their midst surrounded by a blue halo of light. Before the Gabriel can speak, several of the lessor Daemon's perhaps driven mad by the light of goodness rush forth only to be pierced by rays of light that issue forth from the blue shimmering halo. Orcus, snatches up his scepter and snarls an oath as the other demon lords curse and prepare to attack yet none wish to suffer the pain of that heavenly light.
"Greetings, Oh Foul Ones," says Gabriel. His voice is the sweet music of heaven and his answered by howls of pain from the hordes closes to him.
The Demogorgon smiles demonically, not letting the minor irritation of the Angelic voice to bother him. "You break the Agreement by coming here winged Fairy," he snarls. "None of your kind are allowed here as was agreed in the first great war between Heaven and Hell."
"Do not bother to quote history to me Demogorgon, I was there and do well know the agreement." Gabriel pauses and looks around for a moment before continuing. "I would not of come here if it was not a matter of great importance. Even then if it had not been my Father's wish, I would not of come."
The Demogorgon sits back down and signals for the other demon lord to do the same. "What matter of importance could be great enough to cause you to break the agreement, Oh Angel of Death," he inquires.
Gabriel shifts slightly and folds his wings behind him before answering. "I am sure you are aware that the Horsemen are abroad even though it is not their time as yet?" The Demogorgon and a few others grunt in way of answering. "Someone has broken four of the Seven Seals on the Book of life and is even now in the process of breaking the fifth. If he succeeds in breaking all seven, the multi-verse as we know it will be changed drastically!"
"What concern is it of ours what the mortals do," bellows Orcus. We were here before they appeared and shall remain long after they are gone."
"I would think it would concern you greatly, Prince of the Undead..for it could very well mean the death of you as well as those of my kind." Gabriel watched to see what effect his words would have on the Demon Lords.
The Demogorgon lets the others think over the Angel of Death's words for a moment. "I fail to see how it would effect us. Our home is far removed from theirs and even farther from yours, Oh Winged One."
"This is true, and if given time, I shall explain. But perhaps it would be best if all were not present when I did." His eyes glance to the Hordes of demons close at hand.
The low rumble of hatred for the Angel did not escape the notice of the Demon Lords and with a nod they gave orders for their respective hordes to withdraw to a distance great enough that the pending conversation would not be over heard. Gabriel watches as the massed demons moved off but still encircled their leaders. When the hordes were far enough away the Demogorgon looked back to the Angel of Death. "Perhaps now you will enlighten us as to why we should get involved?"
"As you may not know, it is foretold that with the breaking of the seventh seal the world will be remade." Gabriel slowly walks into their midst so that he is the center of their attention. Slowly he begins to turn, looking at each Demon Lord in turn. Some meet his eyes well other turn away either from weakness or a total lack of concern. "Imagine..if you can...a world where your kind is no longer needed? Or my kind for that matter. A multi-verse that has no need of a balance of light and Dark, good and evil. One in perfect sink with itself." Soft murmurs of understanding great his words as they can very well picture a world as such where they would have no part in it. "You and I would cease to be...or worse yet, we would be trapped in our own places with no contact with anything or anyone else. It is for this reason that my brethren and I have joined with the mortals on the material plan."
Orcus chuckles loudly, the sound gross and hideous to hear. "You want us to help you on the chance that this will happen? If you were not so amusing I would kill you on the spot little fairy." He laughs again, his great gross belly shaking with mirth as a few other Demon Lords grin and nod their agreement with the Prince of Deaths words.
The Demon Lord Graal suddenly rises and addresses those gathered upon the plane. "Are you willing to take that chance? Are you Orcus? Are you Lloth? And what will happen if the multi-verse is not made over? What of the souls that will be gone regardless. No more mortal to play with. What then?" Graal's cold evil gaze sweeps from face to hideous face gathered there. "I think we should join them against whom ever is doing this. Why risk everything and you know, if left to their kind," he sneers at Gabriel. "They will screw up everything."
The Arch Angel turns and smiles to the Demon Lord Graal, "So nice of you to agree Graal. I only hope your brethren are as wise."
"How do we know this is not a trap," asked Lloth. "It would be just like them to try to get us upon the material plan to banish us for a thousand years." There are many that nod their heads agreeing with the Spider Queens words.
"You have seen the Horsemen," his voice remaining calm. "You can see what is happening on the material plan. I do not think they could fool us all, Spider Queen. Though yourself perhaps is another story," he adds under is breath. Arguing starts with many agreeing with Graal while others side with Lloth and Orcus and wish to remain out of the struggle.
"Enough!" The loud yell of the Demogorgon causing the others to stop in mid word. The Demogorgon turns his glowing eyes back to the Arch Angel. "It would appear we shall require time to decide this among ourselves."
"You do not have time," Gabriel quickly replies. "You must decide now!"
The Demogorgon growls a warning at the Angel of Death at his tone. "You have our answer for now. Be gone before I remember that you have broken the agreement in coming here!"
Gabriel unfolds his wings and turns regarding them all one last time. "If you will not fight with us, then you stand against us" Suddenly the Angel launches himself into the air and spins around. A blinding light issues forth and strikes the Demogorgon right in the chest. The heavenly power of truth and purity tares through the Demon's defenses and ignites it in a blazing inferno. The magnitude of the power forces the other Demon Lords back from the Demogorgon as with a cry heard throughout the Abyss the demon very essence is ripped from him.
Orcus is the first to recover and lifting his wand send a deadly bolt of the blackest energy at Gabriel catching the Angel up prepared. The Arch Angel plummets to the ground and there is another blinding flash of light which causes all of them to cover and shade their eyes. As the light dims, there laying upon the ground is the Arch Angel Gabriel who moans slightly and rolls over, trying to stagger to his feet. With a cry of pure blood lust the enraged Demon Lords swarm forward intent on destroying the Angel with their bare hands. Gabriel looks up and sees the approaching Demons, having no recall of how he came to be in the Abyss. Quickly he spreads his wings and takes flight with a horde of Demons giving chase. He quickly widens the gap between them and heads once more for the material plan.
Orcus pauses seeing the Angel escape and bellows forth, "Hold!" Several of the others pause and look to him. "Let him go. There will be time enough to make him pay. We must prepare for war now.!"
Graal looks to him, "War?"
"Aye, We shall go to the material plan and once for all destroy him and those of his type. It was a trap all along! We were tricked!" Just then a Mind Flayer drifts up to the Demon Lord and for a moment there is silence and then an evil grin spreads itself across the goat features of The Demon Lord. "Very well, I shall not destroy you for interrupting me because your news is good. Now be gone!" Turning back to the others he smiles revealing hie pointed teeth. "I have just discovered that there is a whole to the heavenly planes from where whoever stolen the souls punctured through. I say you first destroy the those on the Material plane and then we march on Heaven itself!"
Quickly the news spread like wildfire and there was much preparation for the unholy war that was about to happen. Word was sent to Asmodeus and Tiamat as well as the Dukes of Hell of what had transpired. An offer was given for them to join with the Abyss to finally destroy Heaven and remake Hell On Earth. In all the activity, none noticed the single Mind Flayer that drifted out of sight and slowly disappear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Deep within the ShadowLands a denizen of the Abyss suddenly appears and floats there for a moment before its form shifted and the Arch Angel Gabriel hovers in it place. On gentle Angelic wings the Angel of Death gently lands and folds his wings behind him. "So the Abyss marches to oppose the Host of Light and with them will come the Dukes of Hell and all their kind. So far all is going according to plan." Softly he chuckles to himself as once more his form changes as wings give way to a black velvet robe and the blue halo dims and turn to an amber shade. The Necromancer smiles to himself as the shades begin to pour into his realm from the work of the Four Horsemen. "It is too bad I had to use all the energy gleaned from the souls I stole to destroy the Demogorgon. But I couldn't have him joining with the Host of Light." The dark figure turns and strides off as the newly arriving shades suddenly have their essence ripped from them to add to the power of the Necromancer.
E-mail comments and/or corrections to Diana/Wenn & Co